


Dark and Stormy Night

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Holiday vignette. Thrills, chills, and a little bit of chocolate on Halloween.





	Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Dark And Stormy Knight by Halrloprillalar

7 November 1998  
DISTRIBUTION: OK for Archive/X and the Socks Shoppe. Elsewhere by permission. Email forwarding OK.  
RATING: Slash, R for adult themes  
SPOILERS: None  
SUMMARY: Skinner/Pendrell. Holiday vignette. Thrills, chills, and a little bit of chocolate on Halloween.  
DISCLAIMER: Skinner, Pendrell, and the X-Files are owned by Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. Who says possession is nine tenths of the law?  
October 1998  
Another one for Sergeeva, who gives me all my best ideas.

* * *

Dark And Stormy Knight  
by Halrloprillalar <>

Halloween

"I'm not wearing that!"

"OK, Walter, don't wear it."

"That's it? 'OK, Walter, don't wear it'?"

"I just don't feel like playing 'Walter won't have any fun if Daniel doesn't make him do what he really wants to do' tonight. If you don't want to wear the costume, don't wear it. If you don't want to go to the party, don't go. You can stay home with Lucy, watch 'Nightmare Before Christmas,' and eat the leftover candy."

"I didn't say I wouldn't go to the party. I just think the costume is...silly."

"And what kind of costume would leave your dignity intact?"

Skinner pondered that one but before he could answer, Pendrell spoke again.

"Are you going to put that on or not?"

Skinner looked at Pendrell. Pendrell looked at Skinner. Skinner held out his hand for the outfit. Pendrell grinned.

"OK, Bruce, into the Bat Suit."

As Skinner slid the spandex up his calves and over his thighs, he listened to Pendrell natter.

"Who would you rather have been? Superman? Too fresh-faced for you even though I'd make a great Jimmy Olsen. Captain America...not bad but I draw the line at being called Bucky."

The tights felt...tight, snug. Kind of interesting, actually. Skinner picked up the shorts and shirt. Pendrell continued, pacing to the other side of the bedroom.

"Maybe I should have been Spiderman and you could have been the Kingpin. Anyhow, I look sillier than you. I was hoping to come off a little more 'Nightwing' but this just screams 'Boy Wonder'." He turned, his yellow cape swirling out behind him.

It certainly screams something, Skinner thought. The garish red and green body suit took a good ten years off of Pendrell's age. Looking at him in flesh-coloured tights, green boots and gloves, black mask, Skinner felt a trickle of sudden desire run down his spine. Kinky. He fastened on his own blue cape and pulled on the boots.

"Isn't there a mask with this, Daniel?"

"Sorry, it's in the other room. I was working on it, modifying it so you can wear it over your glasses. I'll get it." He billowed out the door, returning almost immediately.

"Let me put it on for you. Sit down on the bed." Pendrell came over and rested one gloved hand against Skinner's cheek, smiling. Bending down, he pressed his lips to the broad forehead. Skinner accepted the warmth and wanted more, so he pulled Pendrell into a kiss, open, deep and just a little demanding. A finger tip raked down Skinner's cheek to the corner of his mouth, moved across his lips, broke the kiss.

"We are going to the party, Walter." The finger trailed down his throat, onto his chest. "But we'll rendezvous in the Bat Cave afterwards. Wear the cape." Pendrell grinned. "Now let me put this on you."

Skinner sat still as Pendrell drew the mask carefully over his head and adjusted it fussily. He allowed himself to be pulled up, propelled in front of the mirror, and admired.

"Spandex is a good look for you, Skipper. Put on the gloves."

Skinner picked them up from the dresser top and worked them over his hands, flexing his fingers, trying to loosen the tight fit. Pendrell's hands slid around his waist, fastening a belt on his hips.

"What's this for?"

"Bat stuff. Your cell phone, keys, a few gadgets and things. Batarangs. You know, stuff."

Studying his reflection, Skinner was not entirely displeased with the final result. If he had to be a superhero, this was the one he would have chosen. Thank God his costume wasn't the campy Adam West version, but a more serious solid dark blue. He transferred a few things to the utility belt.

"You're sure my secret identity is safe?" Might as well relax and get into character.

"No one will suspect that Batman and Robin are actually millionaire playboy Walter Skinner and his youthful...um...ward Daniel Pendrell." He moved in to share the mirror with Skinner. "At least nobody at the party knows you're an FBI big shot, though they might think you're an FBI pleb like me."

"I'm ready to patrol the dark streets of Gotham. What time do we have to leave anyhow?" Skinner looked for his watch, but the glove hid it.

"We should go now; I need to pick up some beer on the way. To the Batmobile!"

Pendrell swooshed out of the room, Skinner following at a distance to avoid getting a cape in his face. By the front door, Pendrell scooped a handful of mini-chocolate bars out of a bowl.

"Not many trick or treaters this year. Must be the weather. Want one?"

"No, thank you."

Outside, rain sheeted sideways in the gusting wind. Skinner grabbed his cape and tried to avoid the worst puddles on the walk.

In the driveway stood Pendrell's pride and joy, his shiny new black Volkswagen, difficult to see in the dark and rain. As Pendrell unlocked the driver's door, Skinner came over to stand beside him. Pendrell looked up, blinking as the wetness hit his face.

"What?"

"Give me the keys."

"Walter, this is my car. My new car."

Skinner folded his arms across his chest and let the wind whip his cape out behind him. "Batman drives."

Pendrell sighed. "I guess you have a point. But in that case, you're designated to drive home as well." He circled to unlock the passenger side, then tossed the keys over the top. "Gee whiz, Batman, you'll have to let me grow up sometime."

Skinner rolled his eyes, a wasted gesture, but a traditional one. Squeezing in, he let the seat back as far as it would go. The cape tightened around his neck as he sat on it and he had to squirm to adjust it.

"Good job with the mask, Professor. I can see pretty well, even in the rain." Skinner started to back out, then stopped. "Which way am I going here?"

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"

Too late to back down. "I'm sure. Just direct me."

With Pendrell navigating, they made their way out of the neighbourhood.

"Tell me again about the people at this party. You play D&D with them, right?"

"Not D&D, Walter, and even if I did, it would be AD&D. We use Steve Jackson's GURPS."

"What the hell is that?"

"It stands for Generic Universal Role Playing System. It's very versatile. Right now we're in the middle of a Old West campaign."

"And you're what, the town doctor?"

"Holy Swinging Saloon Doors, Batman, I'm the marshal and I'll thank you to remember it."

"My mistake. Do I turn right here?" Skinner slowed as he approached the intersection.

Pendrell peered out the window. "I think so. Anyway, there won't be any role playing at the party, just, you know, partying."

"Steve Jackson..." Skinner mused. "Why do I know that name?"

"The Secret Service raid in 1990. By the way, a word of warning: if Azie--it's her place we're going to--if Azie tells you that you look handy and would you please come have a look at this leaking faucet in the bathroom, don't go."

"You think I can't fix a leaking faucet?" Skinner smiled very slightly.

"I'm all too sure you can. So don't." Pendrell gestured to the right. "Here's a 7-Eleven--we still need beer."

Skinner negotiated through the crowded lot and found a parking space. "I'll wait in the car, Daniel."

"Um, I forgot my wallet. Would you come in and buy the beer? I'll pay you back." Pendrell leaned close to Skinner, breathing chocolate on his cheek. "Or you can take it out in trade." Then he hopped out of the car into the rain.

Skinner followed, planning the week-long camping and hiking trip he was going to make Pendrell go on in November. In the snow, if there was any. And without any sugar-coated cereals.

Inside, Pendrell grabbed a case of something mass-market that made Skinner glad he had to drive home. No love in a canoe beer for him. Canoeing...a canoe trip in the spring, just the two of them paddling down a river in the crisp air, Skinner in back calling the stroke. Then camped on the bank, under the stars, he'd turn to Pendrell and...

Skinner stopped short as his cape caught on a display rack. As soon as he freed it, Pendrell dumped the beer into his arms.

"Pay the nice lady, Bats, and then we're out of here."

"Batman to you, Boy Wonder," he growled but he queued up at the cash register, sure that everyone was snickering at him.

When his turn came, Skinner fought with the money pouch on his belt and paid for the beer. He stepped to the side and put the case down while he replaced the change.

"Hands up!"

Instantly alert, Skinner assessed the situation. Not four feet from him, a man in a skull mask held a knife on the terrified middle aged clerk.

"I said hands up! All of you!" Skull Man whipped around, scanning the customers. People put their hands in the air and a young girl started to cry. Skull Man turned back to the clerk. "Put all the money in a bag. Do it!"

Raising his own hands, Skinner studied the man. A knife. In DC he couldn't get a gun? Skull Man's hands shook and his voice betrayed his obvious agitation. A real amateur. Skinner couldn't risk the clerk getting hurt, though, so he waited and watched.

Soon the clerk had fumbled the contents of the till into a bag. Skinner tensed up, ready to spring. Skull Man brandished his knife one more time at the poor women, then turned away, towards Skinner.

Skinner's body judged what action to take--no need to bring the brain into this sort of thing--positioned, anticipated.

"Hey, Ghostie--" Shut up, Daniel!

Skull Man jerked his head towards the sound. Bam! Pow! Biff! and Skull Man lay face down on the dirty floor, Skinner's boot on his wrist.

Pendrell appeared and took the knife away. Crouching down, Skinner pulled the man's arms up behind his back.

"Dammit, what did you think you were doing? I had this all under control." Skinner glared at Pendrell. "Do you have any cuffs?"

Pendrell glared back and pulled something off Skinner's belt. Bungee cords. Skinner grabbed them and bound the man hand and foot. That would hold him until the police arrived.

Until the police arrived...and found him here, Walter Sergei Skinner, Assistant Director with the FBI, in 7-Eleven, dressed as the Caped Crusader, with his lover, the Boy Wonder.

Holy Fucking Headlines, Batman.

He caught Pendrell's wrist and hissed, "To the Batmobile, Robin."

"But we should wait--"

"Just go. I mean it. Now, while we still can." Keeping his hold on Pendrell, he strode to the door, looking straight ahead.

The clerk called after him, "Wait, who are you?"

"We're just a couple of ordinary crime fighters going about our mundane business, ma'am." Skinner pushed through the door, Pendrell behind him, and sprinted to the car.

The rain pelted down, pushing the wipers to the limit, as they tore out of the parking lot.

"Walter, why are we leaving the crime scene?"

Skinner sighed, just a little. "It was just one stupid guy who didn't even know how to properly rob a convenience store. We got him, nobody was hurt, the money's there." He paused to clench and unclench his jaw. "I couldn't face the possibility of publicity. Not for this kind of escapade."

"OK, OK. I won't tell." Pendrell turned to Skinner. "You know, you looked pretty buff there, Bats. Adam West has nothing on you. Ever thought of taking up vigilantism?"

"Oh sure, I'll spend my days fighting crime in the FBI, then spend my nights fighting crime in a spandex suit. Not likely."

"Walter, we forgot the beer--stop somewhere else."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can face the party now. I can't risk anybody finding out about this." He glanced across to Pendrell. "But I can drop you off if you like."

Pendrell slouched in silence for a minute, then straightened. "No, let's both go home." He grinned. "There's some black and tan in the fridge for you--I didn't want to waste it at the party."

Skinner smiled to himself in the darkness. He felt a hand on his thigh.

"And I don't know about you, Bats, but I have a lot of adrenalin to work off."

"Don't distract me while I'm driving, Daniel." The hand remained, reminding Skinner of why he took days off and fed the cat and dressed up in ridiculous costumes. Why it was worth it.

He pulled into the driveway of the little white house and got out of the car. Pendrell came up to him as he was locking the doors.

"Mentor me, Bruce?"

Rain beat at them and the wind pulled at both their capes. Skinner reached out and took Pendrell's face into his hands.

"I'll teach you everything I know."

F I N I S

Trick or treat! Send feedback or I'll TP your webpage. 


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